Ducks and Hats and Cats, Oh My!
by Caseyrocksmore
Summary: AU in which everything Brittany has told us is true. A series of one-shots and short stories revolving around Brittany, with appearances from other characters. The duck was in the hat. Her cat is reading her diary. Dolphins are just gay sharks.
1. Of Confusing Recipes

Summary: AU in which everything Brittany has told us is true. A series of oneshots and short stories revolving around Brittany, with appearances from other characters.

* * *

_"It's not that. It's just that most of us don't know how to bake. I find recipes confusing."  
- Episode 1.09, "Wheels"_

* * *

**Of Confusing Recipes**

Brittany opened the recipe book her mother always kept in the kitchen counter next to the toaster (wow, wasn't that convenient!) and bit her lip. It couldn't be _that_ hard to bake a cake for Santana's birthday, could it? Flipping past all the dumb recipes for things like tuna casserole and stuff made with chicken parts, she finally spotted one that didn't look too difficult: "Simple Vanilla Cake." The name even _said_ it was simple, how cool was that? Brittany grinned. She could _totally _do this.

"In-gred-i-ents," Brittany sounded out carefully. That was the stuff she needed to bake the cake, right? "Two cups of sugar." She paused after the first item on the list suspiciously. Santana said that sugar broke the rules of Coach Sylvester's diet, so she would have to use that fake-sugar stuff instead.

Smiling once more, she bounced happily over to where her mother kept the coffee-making-stuff. She spotted the artificial sweetener right away; it was always in the little pink packets. Knowing that she needed two cups, she opened the cupboard and took our two drinking glasses, careful not to drop them on the floor because they were made of glass and could totally break if she dropped them.

It took _forever_ to open enough packets of fake-sugar to fill up two glasses, but when she was finished, Brittany was very proud of herself. Baking was a lot of work!

She went back to the open recipe. "Four eggs."

Well, _that_ was easy! All she had to do was get them from the fridge. After putting them next to her two cups of fake-sugar, she went back to the list.

Fortunately, none of the other ingredients came in little packets, so it didn't take too long to get them out. After filling two-and-a-half cups with flour (she wasn't sure if it was all-purpose or not, but she figured it would still work), one cup of milk and three-quarters of a cup (she figured that must be more than half, so she just didn't fill it _all _the way to the top) with oil. The recipe called for vegetable oil, so she chose the green one. That had to be made of vegetables, right? Because it was _green_.

She was stumped on the last two, though. "Two-and-a-quarter tea spoons of baking powder, and one tea spoon of vanilla." She frowned. "Where do I get those from?"

This dilemma took far longer than it should have to figure out. Since she didn't know where the baking powder was, baby powder would work, right? It sounded similar. And she had lots of vanilla-smelling perfume. If she sprayed it hard enough, it could fill up a spoon!

After retrieving the necessary ingredients, as well as a quarter from her mother's purse, she went back to the kitchen. She found the spoons in a drawer and decided to use the big ones, since she her mother put a lot of fake-sugar in her tea, they must be the tea spoons.

She filled two spoons with the baby powder (stolen from her little brother's nursery without waking him from his nap) and sprayed her perfume really hard at the third spoon. Eventually, the spoon was full of the perfume, wet and runny like water that smelled good. Coughing (more perfume had ended up in the air than on the spoon, even though Brittany had aimed _very_ carefully), she picked up the recipe book again and went to the instructions part.

"Preheat oven to 350 degrees F," she read aloud. With a shrug, she went over to the oven and turned the dial to 350 and pressed the on button. Easy. "Line baking pan with par-ch-ment paper."

She didn't know what parchment paper was. Oh well. Regular paper would do that same job, right?

"Grease the paper and sides of the pan well. Grease with _what?_" Then it hit her. "Oh, mom uses butter to make things greasy." She took out the stick of butter from the fridge and rubbed it all over the inside of her pan and on both sides of the paper quickly. She put the now-deformed butter back into the fridge, a smile of accomplishment on her face.

"In a large mixing bowl, beat the sugar and eggs together."

Well, that was easy. She got out the biggest bowl they had (it was usually meant for popcorn, but that was okay, they could wash it out after) and poured in the fake-sugar and dropped in the eggs. What was she supposed to beat them with?

The wooden spoon would have to do. She hit the eggs until they broke and then mixed them in real well, making sure to hit the batter really well. It did say she had to _beat_ them, after all. After she felt like the eggs and fake-sugar had been properly punished (though what she did wrong she had yet to figure out) she did what the recipe asked and added the flour, milk, oil, baby powder and vanilla-perfume into the bowl. It said she had to beat it for another minute, so she mixed them all up and smacked at that batter until the little hand on the clock had gone around one whole time.

"Pour batter into greased baking pan."

It was kind of gross and gloppy when she poured it, and a lot of it stuck to the bowl so she had to scrape all the still-dry bits out into the pan with her fingernails.

"Bake in preheated oven for thirty to forty minutes until golden brown." She opened the oven and shoved the pan inside quickly, 'cause it was hot in there and it made her hands hurt.

Brittany figured that an episode of _Zoboomafoo_ took about thirty minutes, so she skipped into the living room and turned on the TV, changing the channel to the On Demand one and choosing her favourite show. Zoboomafoo the lemur taught her tons of cool animal facts, and she laughed really loudly when both of the Kratt brothers ended up falling in a big mud puddle. She always loved it when that happened.

When the show was over, she turned off the TV and went back into the kitchen. She put on her mom's oven mitts because she knew that the cake would be hot now and didn't want to give herself an ouchie-burn, and opened the oven.

The cake didn't really look 'golden brown.' It was kind of a sickly yellow colour, and still really lumpy, but she took it out and turned off the stove anyway. Maybe it was supposed to be lumpy. Wasn't that why you covered cakes in icing? So that they looked smooth instead of lumpy?

The recipe said she had to unstick the cake from the pan with a knife, so she used a butter knife to cut it free. She put all the dirty spoons and glasses and bowls in the dishwasher and turned it on, hoping that clanking sound was normal.

It was harder to peel off the paper than she thought it would be, once she'd dumped the cake out onto a platter, but eventually she did get all the pieces off and threw them out. She took out the icing and put it all over the cake, trying to make it as smooth as possible.

Now it looked better, at least. Much more cake-like.

Brittany grinned and went to get some candles, sticking in a handful since she didn't know how many sixteen looked like. Santana wouldn't care if she got the number wrong, as long as her cake tasted good.

* * *

When Santana came over after dinner like Brittany had asked her to, she looked at the cake like it was an alien baby or something.

"You baked this? All by yourself?" she asked suspiciously, staring at the still-kind-of-lumpy cake with eleven candles stuck in it at odd angles. "Did you get your mom to help?"

"Nope!" Brittany said proudly, "I did it all by myself. Don't worry, though, I followed a really simple recipe!"

Santana sighed and took the lighter away from her best-friend-with-benefits and lit the candles herself, wondering how on earth Brittany had managed to bake a cake without hurting herself and secretly hoping it wouldn't give her food poisoning if she tried it.

Brittany sang 'Happy Birthday' for her, loudly and off-tune because that's how it's _meant_ to be sung, and Santana blew out the candles out of obligation. The cake honestly didn't look _that bad_ when Brittany cut into in and gave her a piece, so she decided to risk it in order to make Brit happy.

"On three, okay?" she said when Brittany had gotten herself a piece and taken two forks out of the cutlery drawer.

"'Kay."

"One... two..." Santana counted as both girls scooped up a forkful of cake. "Three!"

Santana gagged and spit her mouthful into the sink, immediately turning on the tap and putting her tongue beneath the stream. Brittany looked sadly at her piece of cake, the gross undercooked lump of... _ick_ still in her mouth. It didn't taste like cake at all!

"Spit it out, Brittany."

Brittany spit her cake into the sink like Santana had, watching as the lump dissolved under the stream of water and a chunk of eggshell became visible.

"But I followed the recipe so closely," Brittany said quietly, her lip quivering a little. What had she done _wrong_?

"Let's go get ice-cream," Santana suggested quickly, taking away Brittany's plate and putting it in the sink next to her own.

"Okay." They linked pinkies and Santana led her out of the house.

"Recipes are confusing," Brittany told her as they walked down the street to the ice-cream parlour that served the chocolatiest rocky-road ever. "Even the 'simple' ones."

"Of course they are, Brit," Santana agreed, never missing a beat. "That's why we're never trying to bake anything again, right?"

"Right!"


	2. Of Ducks and Top Hats Part 1

Summary: AU in which everything Brittany has told us is true. A series of one-shots and short stories revolving around Brittany, with appearances from other characters.

* * *

"_I bet the duck's in the hat."  
- Episode 1.10,"Ballad"_

* * *

**Of Ducks and Top Hats Part 1**

As everyone else left the choir room, Brittany stared forlornly at the black top hat perched atop the piano. Santana was watching her with a raised eyebrow, her hands on her hips like she did when she was feeling impatient.

"You coming, Brit?"

Brittany frowned, looking up at her best friend sadly. "Are they just gonna leave him in there all night?"

Santana made a face, her eyebrows coming together in the middle and her lips pursing like she was angry. "Brittany," she said slowly, like when she thought Brittany was doing something she shouldn't, like when she tried to put a push-pin in Artie's leg just to see if he could feel it.

"Hm?"

"Brittany, look at me." Brittany looked up, her eyes still filled with sadness. "There isn't a duck in the hat, okay? I put my hand in there. No duck."

Brittany sighed, shaking her head. "You just didn't go deep enough," she explained, standing up and walking over to the piano. "Can I take him home with me, or d'you think my mom would get mad?"

Santana sighed. As much as she loved Brittany, there was something seriously wrong with the girl. "Brittany, there _isn't _a duck in the—"

"Yes, there is!" Brittany told her excitedly, pulling the hat closer to her and shoving her hand inside. Santana watched, unimpressed, as her best friend rooted around in the bottom of the stupid top hat like she was going to find a duck in there.

"Brittany, come on, let's just go home," Santana complained, tapping the toe of her white running shoe against the floor tiles. Today was one of the only days this month she didn't have Cheerio practice after glee, and she intended to make the most of it.

"Hold on a sec!"

Brittany put her other hand into the hat and continued to feel around. Santana groaned; this was getting ridiculous. Brittany was standing on her tip-toes, and looking into the hat, her hands still as deep inside it as they would go.

"Come on, duckie. It's okay to come out now..." Brittany grinned and gently pulled a duck from the top hat. "Good boy. Santana, can I name him Ballad?"

Santana stared, open mouthed, at the pure white duck cradled in Brittany's arms. That thing _hadn't_ been in the hat when she had pulled out Brittany's name. Where the hell had it been hiding?

"Don't look so shocked, San," Brittany said after a moment of cooing at the bird. "It's a magic hat."

Well, didn't that just explain _everything_? Santana shook her head and sighed, rubbing at her temples with her index fingers. "Sure you can name him Ballad, Brittany," she said quietly, deciding that she really needed to lay off Coach Sylvester's shakes if they were giving her hallucinations.

Brittany squealed happily, skipping to the door with Ballad still wrapped protectively in her arms. "Come on, San, we have to go to the pet shop before it closes. I bet they have special food for ducks and stuff. Oh! We should get him a top hat to wear! Wouldn't have be _so_ cute? Do you want a top hat, Ballad?"

Mr. Ballad the Duck gave a quack of agreement and wiggled around in Brittany's arms while Santana looked on, perplexed.

"You're right, Ballad," Brittany said seriously to her new friend, "You'll need a tailcoat, too."


	3. Of Misogynistic Massage Therapists

Summary: AU in which everything Brittany has told us is true. A series of one-shots and short stories revolving around Brittany, with appearances from other characters.

PG-13 Warning: Some foul language in this one. Brittany's misogynist is _not _a nice guy.

* * *

_"When I pulled my hamstring I went to a misogynist."  
- Episode 1.15, "The Power of Madonna"_

* * *

**Of Misogynistic Massage Therapists **

Brittany held her leg as she sat on the gym floor, gently pushing her fingers into the tender flesh. "It really hurts," she said quietly, her eyes watering as she looked up at Coach Sylvester. "I don't think I can walk on it."

The Coach groaned and wiped a hand across her forehead, pushing back her short, blond bangs. The other Cheerios crowded around their injured member worriedly, as Santana finally broke through the lines and knelt next to her best friend.

"What're you all gawking at? Back off and give her some space!" Santana barked, her eyes wild. No one hurt _her_ Brittany. Once she figured out who'd messed up the routine, _someone_ was getting their ponytail shaved off at the next sleepover.

"Skedaddle," Sue said, waving a hand in the air to dismiss them.

The Cheerios broke up into small group as they left the gymnasium, occasionally looking back at the two left behind. Sue was _pissed_; Brittany was one of her best dancers, and if the injury was serious, she could be out all season.

An examination of the leg in question revealed that Brittany had pulled her hamstring when she fell. Coach Sylvester had one of the Cheerios' investors pay for her to see a massage therapist to help speed up the healing process, or something. Brittany thought that maybe Coach Sylvester was just trying to show off the fact that the Cheerios have so much more money in their budget than the glee club, but she couldn't be sure.

When Brittany went to her scheduled appointment, she thought that the massage-doctor seemed really nice. He smelled like cinnamon and he didn't talk down to her, so she had to ask him to explain something things she didn't understand. He didn't treat her like she was stupid. She liked that.

It wasn't until his nurse left to go file the paperwork and he got her to lie down on her stomach on the massage table that things started getting weird. He murmured things under his breath that made her stomach hurt, like when Dave called her a stupid whore and the other puckheads all laughed. He said these things darkly, and Brittany isn't even sure she heard them right— because some of the stuff he said sounded really mean.

He started at her ankle, pushing his experienced fingers into the tissue and massaging carefully. He stopped mumbling when he got to work, and Brittany relaxed, because his hands felt _really_ good, like they were making all of the tension and pain float away. He slowly began moving up her leg, his talented hands kneading the flesh of her calf and the back of her thigh. Brittany sighed. This was totally cool. It felt _super_ awesome. This guy was good!

When the massage-doctor's hands moved up to gently brush against her butt, Brittany frowned. "I only pulled my hamstring," she informed him seriously, leaning up on her elbows and twisting around to frown at him directly. "That's in my _leg._"

The massage-doctor leered at her, his hand jumping out from where he had been discreetly sliding it beneath her skirt. "Fucking tease," his spat at her, and Brittany's nose scrunched up— he'd just used a _very _bad word. Her mother always told her not to use words like that, even when she was really mad. "Parading around in that skirt to show off, making those noises because you _knew_ you could use your feminine wiles to tempt me— you _bitch_!"

Brittany sat up and moved to put her shoes back on. This guy was being mean now, and she didn't want to be here, even if she didn't understand most of what he was saying. She knew he'd called her a bitch, and even though it sometimes referred to a girl-dog, the way he used it was in the mean way, which was like calling her a bad girl. And she wasn't a bad girl. She hadn't done anything wrong.

"Can you give me my crutches?" she asked him politely, pointing to where he had leaned them up against the wall when she came in. "I want to go home now."

"You women are all the same," the massage-doctor continued instead, his voice a dark whisper that made Brittany shift uncomfortably. "Showing off what you've got, and then not giving what you promised."

Santana had warned her about guys like this. Creepy guys that made her feel scared. She wasn't supposed to talk to them or let them touch her. Oops. She'd _already_ let him touch her. Santana was going to be _so_ mad.

"I want to go home," Brittany repeated, less politely now. He was being mean. She wasn't going to let him touch her anymore. "Give me my crutches, or I'll... I'll _scream_." She remembered from a movie (that she wasn't supposed to watch, but her big sister let her anyway when her parents were out on their date-night) where the creepy guy wouldn't let the pretty girl go and then she said she'd scream and he let her go.

The massage-doctor stopped his rant to glare at her, his eyes much colder and much less pretty than she remembered. "Bitch," he said again, but he went to the wall and grabbed her crutches anway, practically shoving them at her. "Get out. Stupid whore, coming in here to tempt me and then set me up. Get out!"

Brittany didn't need telling twice, even though he told her twice. She got up on her crutches and hobbled out of the office, waiting until she was outside before she got out her cell phone and called Santana to come and pick her up. When Santana got there, Brittany told him all the mean stuff the massage-doctor had called her, and Santana got really mad and told Coach Sylvester.

A week later, Coach Sylvester called Brittany into her office to tell her (with a smirk) about how the guy got sent away to Utah or something. Brittany couldn't really remember why she was supposed to be mad at him, but Santana seemed really happy that he'd been 'taken care of,' so she smiled too.


	4. Of Lockers and Baby Birds

Summary: AU in which everything Brittany has told us is true. A series of one-shots and short stories revolving around Brittany, with appearances from other characters.

* * *

_"She's the one they made me talk to when they found out I was keeping that bird in my locker."  
- Episode 1.13, "Sectionals"_

* * *

**Of Lockers and Baby Birds**

_Peep peep! Peep peep!_

Brittany stopped and looked around curiously. She hadn't imagined that noise, right?

_Peep peep! Peep peep!_

"Oh!" she said as she spotted what was making the noise. A little baby bird was sitting in the grass to her left, it mouth open wide as it _peep_ed up at her. "Hey, there, little buddy. I almost stepped on you!"

Carefully, so as not to hurt the little baby bird, Brittany scooped him into her hands and carried him over to the nearest tree in the park. Her little brother was swinging on the swing set a little ways away and she was supposed to be watching him, but the baby bird took precedence. She held him up high and tried to put him back in the tree, but he didn't move from where he was cuddled in her palm.

"Fly back into your nest, little birdie," she told the bird seriously, bringing him close to her face so he could hear her. He looked up at her with little beady black eyes, half closed as he extended his neck again and opened his mouth at her.

_Peep!_

"Oh! You're probably too little to fly, aren't you?" she asked the bird, gently stroking his very small wings with her fingertips. "Your feathers aren't big enough yet."

What was she supposed to do with her little birdie now? She couldn't just leave him here at the park, all _alone_. He was just a baby, after all, and what kind of person abandoned a _baby_? She would have to take the birdie home with her.

"You must be hungry," she said as the gently petted his back. The bird curled up protectively in her palm. "That's what the peeping means, right? Are you hungry?" The bird didn't give her a response, but she figured that she was right anyway. "Come on, Henry, we're going home!" she called to her little brother, who hopped off the swing and followed her obediently. Brittany liked Henry. He always listened to what she said.

When they got home, Brittany found a shoebox in her closet and, after taking out the shoes that were in it, filled it with leaves and twigs and toilet paper to make a soft little nest for her newest little friend. He seemed to like it, since it was all warm and snugly, so she left him in there while she went outside and dug up worms for him to eat.

She fed him all the little itty-bitty worms she could find, but when she ran out of little worms, she was stumped. He was still opening his mouth and _peep_ing like he was hungry, but she couldn't feed him the big worms. He could choke on them!

So she called Santana. It was what she always did when she didn't know the answer to something.

After explaining the situation _twice_ (because Santana's startled "You adopted a _what_?" made her tell the whole story again) Brittany waited patiently for Santana to tell her what to do. Santana _always_ knew what to do.

"_Just... crush the worms up into mush, or something. Mama birds chew them first to make them soft for the babies to eat_," Santana told her, trying not to sound annoyed at being called before noon for such a dumb reason.

Brittany grinned. Chew it for the baby so that it didn't have to? That made perfect sense. She could totally do that.

Santana sighed again, and it came through the phone like static. "_But _don't_ chew the worms yourself, B. That's disgusting. Mash them up with a spoon._"

"Oh, did I say that out loud?"

"_You didn't have to. I know the way your brain works._"

Brittany did as she was told and fed the baby bird the worm-mush. It didn't look all that appetising to _her_, and she was really glad that she hadn't chewed them herself even though she was kind of curious as to what worms tasted like.

"There you go, baby," she said to the bird as she spooned the last of the grey-ish slop into his waiting mouth. He seemed much happier after he'd eaten, and he sort of curled up in a ball at the bottom of his nest.

"I like to sleep after I have a big meal, too. Especially if it's turkey," Brittany confided in her new friend seriously as she leaned her chin on her hand and watched him doze. "And babies sleep a lot, too. Henry used to sleep a lot. He still takes naps after lunch."

Oh! Henry! She'd completely forgotten to feed him lunch, since she'd been so focussed on her little birdie. She made sure her bird was tucked in and sleeping before she made her way to the kitchen to make PB&J for her little brother. She even washed her hands first!

* * *

"Do you want to meet Trevor?"

Santana stared at her, frowning. "Who the hell is Trevor?"

"My little birdie. I decided to name him Trevor because Trevor is my favourite character from Harry Potter, and I couldn't leave him without a name because that would be mean. He's in my locker; you wanna see him? He's super cute."

Santana sighed and shook her head. "You brought it to _school_?"

Brittany frowned. "Of course I did. I couldn't leave him alone at home with my cat! She'd eat him. That would be_ totally_ irresponsible." She put her hands on her hips and stared at her best friend seriously, as though accusing _her_ of being irresponsible.

"Since when do you know the word 'irresponsible'?" Santana asked as they walked to Brittany's locker, pinkies linked as they swung their arms between them. Brittany shrugged.

"They said it on Sesame Street once."

Well. That explained everything, didn't it?

* * *

"So, Brittany. You do know that you're not allowed to keep wild animals in your locker, don't you?" Ms. Pillsbury told her later that afternoon. Brittany was close to tears; one of the other Cheerios had tattled on her, and they'd taken baby Trevor away.

"He's not a wild animal," she explained, her lip quivering as she held back tears. "Trevor is my friend."

The guidance councillor looked at her sympathetically, plucking a Kleenex from the box on her desk and offering it to the distraught teenage girl. "Well, you don't have to worry about him anymore. He's going to a better place now, Brittany."

Brittany gasped, taking the tissue and holding it to her chest protectively. "He's dead? _Noooo_," she wailed, the flood gate finally breaking as she burst into tears. "He was only a baby! Why must the good die young?"

Ms. Pillsbury's mouth fell open. Brittany was sobbing wildly, shaking her head and flinging teardrops around the room. Her nose was running— Ms. Pillsbury winced— and she was tearing her tissue into little pieces instead of using it.

"No, no, Brittany!" she said quickly, the exasperation in her voice easy to detect. "He's not dead! You've misunderstood me. He's going to a wonderful little animal shelter so he can be with all the other little baby birds."

Brittany stopped crying, her lips shaking as she looked at the guidance councillor curiously. "Like a daycare?" she asked, quietly sniffling as she cradled her eviscerated Kleenex in her lap.

Ms. Pillsbury nodded quickly, offering her another tissue from the box. Brittany took it and blew her nose loudly. "Yes. It's like a daycare, except for animals. They help them grow up and when they're big enough, they release them back into the wild."

"So he can play with all the other little birdies?"

"Exactly."

Brittany smiled a sad, little smile. "I can't go visit him, can I?"

Ms. Pillsbury shook her head. "No, Brittany. He needs to be left alone, now, so he can grow up to be like all the other birds."

Brittany hung her head. "I'm gonna miss him."

Ms. Pillsbury awkwardly patted her hand, swallowing hard to suppress the urge to grab her bottle of hand sanitizer immediately.


	5. Of Sewers and Kittens

Summary: AU in which everything Brittany has told us is true. A series of one-shots and short stories revolving around Brittany, with appearances from other characters.

* * *

"_People thought I went on vacation but I really spent the summer lost in the sewers."  
- Episode 2.1, "Audition"_

* * *

**Of Sewers and Kittens**

It was cold, and wet, and it smelled really gross.

Brittany cautiously put one (previously) white running shoe in front of the other, carefully walking along the edge of the sewage pipe. To her left was a swamp of green and brown and smelly water with floating garbage in it and to her right was a hard, curved wall of cement. She had to duck to stay upright without hitting her head, and to keep her balance she had her hand pressed tightly against the slimy wall.

"Here, Sprinkles," she called into the increasingly desolate pipe. "Come on out, girl." She clicked her tongue, but there was no response as she continued to pull herself along the thin ledge. It was mostly dark ahead of her, and even darker behind her, so she kept walking, eyes peeled for any sign of her missing cat.

Her running shoes were no longer the pristine white that Coach Sylvester always demanded. They'd turned brownish and dirty, and one of them was dripping from when she had slipped and put her foot into the gross sewage water. Even thinking about it made Brittany wince— if the Coach ever saw the state of her uniform as it was right now, she would probably be kicked off the squad. Or at least shoved forcefully into a decontamination shower.

She had no sense of time whatsoever in the sewer. Every once and a while a grate would pass overhead, and she'd see light and hear cars passing over them, but instead of climbing out or calling for help, she continued on her perilous journey. She didn't feel hungry at all, though maybe that was because of the horrible smell the sewer had. It was a stench so awful that her nose had blocked it out within an hour or two of being trapped, nearly indescribable in its awfulness.

Brittany could only hope that the stink didn't linger in her hair and on her skin after a couple of showers using lots of the pretty-smelling soap and deodorant that Santana had started giving her after the body-odour incident in the eighth grade.

Hours passed, and the nausea passed into hunger slowly, a gnawing that made her stomach clench with a noise of protest every few minutes. She considered turning back and trying to find a way home without poor Sprinkles— but she would always shake her head and press onward instead when she had these thoughts. She was _not _going to leave her cat alone in a gross place like this. She was far too nice a person to abandon an innocent pet where it could be eaten by the crocodiles that lived in the sewers.

As Brittany walked forward, the ledge she was balancing on slowly became wider, so she no longer had to hold the wall. She was still careful of her footing even as the path widened to an almost sidewalk-sized width; if she tripped and sprained her ankle or pulled her hamstring again, Coach Sylvester would take away her pyramid leap in the Homecoming routine.

Brittany paused when she heard a scratching sound, a mixture of rustling fabric and the scuff of shoes on concrete. "Sprinkles?" she asked, not expecting an answer as she called into the semi-darkness. Instead of her brown-and-white housecat, a much larger shadow shifted closer to her. She instinctively took a step back as the shadow— no, _person_— came closer to her and was illuminated by a stream of sunlight from a grate over their heads.

"M'name's not Sprinkles, 'lil lady," croaked the homeless man, clutching a plastic-wrapped sandwich to his chest almost protectively. Brittany let out a breath she hadn't known she'd been holding, putting a hand over her thudding heart.

"Patches, thank goodness!" she said, "It's only you. I was really scared there for a second."

She spied his sandwich and bit her lip, her hand sliding off her chest and onto her stomach as it grumbled a warning of her hunger. Patches' beady black eyes followed the movement almost greedily.

"D'you want half my sandwich?" Patches offered, taking a step closer to her. "It's bologna."

Brittany eyed the sandwich and nodded. "Yes please. I've been down here for, like, _ever._"

Patches wasn't all that bad a guy once you got used to him. They ate their half-sandwiches in relative silence while sitting on the thick ledge of the sewer at a T-joint, listening to the rush of dirty water and making occasional small talk about the Cheerios and Santana and Sprinkles. She even let him touch her boobs when he asked if he could, because he'd shared his food with her and that was nice of him; her stomach didn't hurt so much anymore, which was a bonus.

"So, 'bout your cat," Patches said, coughing and scrunching up the Ziplock his sandwich had been in. He stuffed the plastic into the pocket of his lumpy wool coat, and Brittany briefly wondered where he'd gotten the sandwich in the first place. "I saw a cat."

Brittany lit up visibly at the news, clapping her hands together excitedly as she grinned at her companion. "Was it Sprinkles? She's got lots of fur that's brown and white and has a patch of red above her nose."

Patches scratched absently at the stubble on his chin, frowning slightly. "Dunno. She wen' by too fast to tell. But she was a fluffy one, I tell ya. Lotsa fur."

Brittany stood quickly, hope restored in her mission. "Where did you see her? Can you point me there? If you don't know, you can draw me a map. I'm good with maps, usually, 'cept when I get lost, but that isn't too often, usually."

Patches chuckled and hauled himself to his feet slowly, groaning as his joints cracked and popped and he stretched so that his palms were pressed against the ceiling of the sewage pipe. Brittany still had to duck a little to be able to stand, even though the pipe was much bigger where they were now: under the city library, if Patches kept to one stomping ground.

"Thataway," he said after a while more of thinking and groaning. He pointed down the dark tunnel that loomed ahead of them in the T-joint. "Made a funny nest o' newspapers an' cardboard an' hissed at me when I came by, though."

Brittany nodded and started her journey again, wondering how Sprinkles had managed to make a nest so fast.

She didn't have as much trouble finding the cat as she thought she would. She only chased one rat (well, it was big enough to be Sprinkles!) before she found the right animal. She ran after it and called Sprinkle's name over and over, but it got away and then she was very sad. She'd spent so much time in the dirty, icky sewer looking for Sprinkles, only to have her run away when Brittany found her.

* * *

It was dark outside. Brittany could tell because the light that came through the grates above her was less and less each time she passed underneath one. She collapsed on the ground when the path began to thin again and pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them for warmth.

She was sick of this stupid, smelly place. She was cold and tired, her foot was still wet, her pony tail had fallen out and she was getting hungry again, despite the putrid stench. It was like a really gross nightmare that just wouldn't _end _already.

Why did Sprinkles have to run away and go into the stupid sewer?

_Mew._

Brittany glanced up, startled, and looked around. Where had that noise come from? She stood up slowly, using her fingers to pull her ears open wide so she could listen real carefully for the sound again. She shuffled forward, and then stopped when she heard it again, more loudly.

_Mew._

Her eyes locked onto a dilapidated cardboard box, lying wet and half-collapsed near the wall on the far side of the sewer. As she peered at it in the gloom, it moved slightly, and Brittany gasped, remembering what Patches had said about a nest. Nests were places you went to have _babies_, just like Trevor-the-baby-sparrow had been in a nest before he fell out. There were_ kittens_ in that box!

Plugging her noise and gathering the courage, Brittany slowly stepped down into the water that ran down the middle of the pipe. She gagged as the smell hit her ten-fold, and the thick goo at the bottom squished against the bottom of her running shoes. The water was almost up to her knees as she waded through it, both disgusted and determined to reach the poor abandoned baby kittens.

Inside the box, when she reached it, were three little balls of fur; one pure black, one dark brown with black markings, and one that was almost calico, a patchwork of browns and blacks and reds. The kittens mewed and her helplessly and Brittany fell in love— the poor things must be freezing!

Carefully, she reached into the box and withdrew the kitten closest to her, the one with jet black fur. It snuggled up against her chest, purring gently. "I'm going to name you Blackjack, okay?" The kitten grumbled in agreement.

The other two kittens were shaking slightly, so she smoothly transferred the newly christened Blackjack into her lap and retrieved another kitten from the box. She looked at the brown-and-black kitten for a beat, and then smiled, petting her soft fur. "Cashmere," she decided, gently placing Cashmere in her lap to cuddle with her brother, who was now curled against her hip. The third kitten was instantly dubbed 'Augustus,' his multicoloured fur reminding Brittany of the leaves that fell in August.

After some consideration, Brittany figured that the best mode of transportation for her babies would be if she were a kangaroo and could put them in her pouch to carry home. But after checking to make sure, she determined that she lacked a pouch— and instead made one by folding up the bottom of her uniform shirt and holding the kittens in the fabric fold from underneath.

Once her babies were securely cradled in the makeshift pouch, Brittany stood and tried to get her bearings. This side of the sewer looked exactly like the other side, except she could no longer tell which direction she had come from. With a shrug, Brittany started walking down the dark and smelly tunnel, seemingly endless as she fought her nausea from the dreadful smell.

After a long time, Brittany stumbled across a loose gate in the ceiling of the tunnel. She only knew it was there because the soft light of the stars had reflected off Cashmere's wide eyes as she looked up at the (regularly) confused teenager.

Brittany began yelling for help and after a couple of desperate, one-handed shoves at the metal grate as she tried to both open it and keep her kittens cradled in her pouch, two pale hands grabbed onto the grate and heaved it onto the road.

"Thanks!" Brittany called into the star-lit sky above her, smiling as a face appeared in the round hole.

"How the hell did you get down there?" asked the kind stranger as he helped Brittany out of the sewer, looking both relieved and shocked as he saw that she was okay (and with kittens). He was tall and well-kempt, with dark chocolate eyes, greying hair and a suit with a red letter D over the breast pocket.

Brittany shrugged. "I was looking for my cat."

The man looked at her curiously, taking in her ragged appearance and wet shoes. "You must be freezing," he said, putting a gentle hand on her shoulder as he led her toward a large house just down the street. "It's a good thing I was taking the garbage out when I was, huh? Or you might've been stuck down there."

Brittany shivered. She _was_ freezing, and being stuck down there forever would have seriously sucked. "Yeah," she agreed quietly as she was led into the house. It was big and fancy, nothing like her own house, and she felt rather humbled to be invited in, considering how she looked.

"Michelle!" he called into the foyer, and a small woman appeared in a doorway near the end of the hall, drying her hands on a plaid dishtowel. She gasped and quickly approached the odd pair at the door. "Look what I found outside in the sewer!"

"You poor dear," Michelle said quietly, spotting the kittens after a moment. "Oh! Let's get you something to change into and some milk for those poor kittens."

Brittany borrowed a dress of Michelle's, and her kittens were given milk and a cardboard box to be better carried in. She felt extremely lucky to have found such nice people when she got out of the yucky sewer. She could have easily run into some kind of creep instead, or no one at all.

"Where do you live, sweetheart?" Michelle asked her once she had been clean up and the kittens were bundled in an old towel in their new box.

"17 West Grand Avenue, Lima, Ohio, United States," Brittany recited dutifully, just as her parents had made her memorise. A thought struck her, and she frowned. "We are still in the United States, right? Because I don't have my passport if I walked all the way to Canada."

Michelle crinkled her nose in silent laughter. "Don't worry, dear. We're in Westerville. It's about an hour and a half drive from Lima."

Brittany sighed in relief. Her parents would have been really mad if she'd left the country.

"Come on," the man Brittany now knew was named Daniel said as he picked up the box of kittens. "I'll drive you home."

"I can walk home," Brittany protested, "I walked _here_, didn't I? And I don't want to put you to any trouble." Her bottom lip trembled dangerously.

"No trouble at all," Daniel told her seriously, offering the distraught teenager his hand. "My son makes the drive on a regular basis, I think I can manage it once."

The drive home was quiet, but not uncomfortably so. Brittany watched the bright lights of the highway streak past for a while, and spent some time cooing at her new friends in their box when the radio woke them.

When they got to the Pierce's residence, the neighbourhood was alight with the red-and-blue flashing lights that sit on top of police cars. One was parked in her driveway and the other by the curb, but Brittany seemed undisturbed as she got out of Daniel's car and quietly thanked him for the ride and everything else.

Daniel followed her up the drive, just to make sure she got in okay, and was met by a police officer when she opened the door. Brittany skipped past the officer and walked straight to her shocked mother, who sat tearfully on the living room couch.

"I got lost in the sewer looking for Sprinkles, but I found other kittens instead, and then Mr. Daniel drove me home. Can we keep them?" Brittany asked innocently, her smile bright with childlike wonder.

"Of course, Sweetpea," Brittany's mother answered quietly, standing to take the box from her daughter. "I'm sorry to have wasted your time again, officers."

The policemen nodded and left the house after shaking hands with a still-silent Mr. Pierce, who sat stony-faced on the sofa until after they had gone. "Thank you for driving my daughter home," were the only words he spoke as he stood and shook a bewildered Daniel's hand too and directed him to the door.

Brittany walked into the kitchen to get some cat food for her kittens, and stopped dead in the doorway. "Sprinkles!" she exclaimed excitedly, clapping her hands together as she spotted her lost cat, safe and sound and drinking from her water dish. "You came home!"


	6. Of M&Ns and M&Ms

Summary: AU in which everything Brittany has told us is true. A series of one-shots and short stories revolving around Brittany, with appearances from other characters.

* * *

_"Mr. Schue taught me the second half of the alphabet. I stopped after M and N. I felt they were too similar and got frustrated."  
- Episode 2.7, "The Substitute" _

* * *

**Of M&Ns and M&Ms**

"Brittany, can I see you in my office for a moment, please?"

Brittany stiffened slightly as she turned to follow Mr. Schue, squaring her shoulders. She knew that tone of voice; she'd heard it enough times that she could recognise it right away. It was the tone of voice her parents used when she forgot to pick Olivia up from soccer practice, or that time she almost lost Henry at the mall: that tone of voice meant she'd done something wrong.

Except this time, Brittany had no idea what her mistake was.

"Am I in trouble, Mr. Schue?" she asked quietly, tilting her chin down and widening her eyes a little. Santana could never resist her sad puppy-dog eyes even when she was really angry, so Brittany figured it might work on her Spanish teacher, too. It was worth a shot, at any rate.

"What? Oh, no, Brittany. You aren't in trouble." Will frowned slightly as the cheerleader heaved a sigh of relief. "Why don't you sit down?"

Brittany nodded absently and sank into the chair across from him, her smile oddly vacant as she waited for him to continue. Will cleared his throat awkwardly, quickly straightening a stack of papers on his desk as he thought out how he was going to approach the subject.

"I spoke to Mr. Matthews, earlier," Will started, frowning a little more obviously when Brittany didn't look any less confused. "Your English teacher?"

"Oh! The bald guy who tells us to read all the time?"

Will pinched the bridge of his nose and tried not to feel exasperated so early into what would surely prove to be an exasperating conversation. "Yes, Brittany," he sighed. "I've talked to Mr. Matthews, and he was concerned about your grade in his class."

Brittany nodded again, her eyes locked onto a bird on the windowsill behind Will's desk. Her grades were often a subject of discussion, but she never really understood why. She was on the honour roll now, thanks to her being on the Cheerios and Coach Sylvester's influence.

"Brittany? Brittany!" Will clapped his hands together, and Brittany started visibly as he caught her attention once again. "Brittany, do you know the alphabet?"

Brittany thought about it for a second, and then nodded. "Uh-huh. I think so."

Will sighed with relief. "Can you sing it for me? Mr. Matthews wasn't sure if you knew it or not, and... well, that would be a big cause of concern."

Brittany smiled winningly and took a deep breath. She liked singing, even if it was only the stupid alphabet. She was far more talented than everyone in the Glee Club, after all. "A, B, C, D," she sang excitedly, scrunching up her nose a little as she concentrated on her letters. "E, F, G! H, I, J, K, L, M..." she trailed off, biting her lip. "L, M, M... no..."

She shook her head from side to side frantically as Will watched her, faintly amused (and trying not to be) by her concentration.

"That's not right, is it? There aren't two the same..."

Will shook his head _no_, wondering how on Earth Brittany could have gotten to the eleventh grade without knowing how to sing the alphabet. He felt like he was teaching pre-K instead of high school as he gently explained to her that the next letter was N and not a second M. It was like teaching Sam to tie his shoes all over again; tedious, and what should have been unnecessary.

Brittany threw her hands in the air. "They're too similar," she told Will seriously, "I always stop there because I get frustrated and hungry, because I think of M&Ms and I like M&Ms." She paused, then smiled excitedly. "Do you have any M&Ms?"

"No, Brittany. I don't. Do you know what comes _after_ M and N?"

Brittany wracked her brains, even tugging on her ponytail a few times to try to unjumble her thoughts. She bit her lip as she pondered. "Someone named Penelope?" she asked, seemingly pleased at being able to come up with a suitable answered.

Will heaved a sigh and shook his head again. "No, Brittany," he sighed, and at her dejected look, added, "But it's... close, I suppose." Brittany smiled. "Okay, let's try this: repeat after me. A, B, C, D."

"A, B, C, D," Brittany parroted, her smile fading a little as her gaze returned to the window.

"E, F, G," Will continued, and Brittany mumbled the letters after him. "H, I, J, K..."

"H, I, J, K, L, M, N, O, P." Brittany jumped when her teacher clapped his hands together excitedly, and then stared at him. "What?"

"Brittany, you do know the alphabet!" he said with such enthusiasm, Brittany couldn't help but grin. "You continued it without me telling you how!"

"I did?" she asked, startled. She hadn't even realised. "Oh! I did!" She clapped her own hands together, grinning happily. "O and P come after M and M!"

"N," Will correct, and Brittany nodded.

"Yes," she said, "I meant N. L, M, _N_, O, P."

"Q, R, S," Will sang softly, motioning for her to continue.

"T, U, V," Brittany followed slowly, as though unsure.

"Yes, Brittany! W, X..."

Brittany grinned. "Y and Zeeeeee," she giggled, "_Now I know my ABCs, next time won't you sing with me?_" She paused, deep in thought once more. "Mr. Schue?"

"Yes, Brittany?"

"Do you have any M&Ms?"

Will sighed. "No, Brittany. But why don't we go get you some from the vending machine? You deserve it."

Brittany's eyes lit up happily. "Thanks, Mr. Schue!"

They stood and he patted her lightly on the shoulder as they left his office. He felt happier than he should be that he was helping one of his students learn something as simple as the alphabet, but in an odd way, it was more fulfilling than teaching Spanish verb conjugations.


	7. Of Heart Attacks and Lady Kisses

Summary: AU in which everything Brittany has told us is true. A series of one-shots and short stories revolving around Brittany, with appearances from other characters.

A/N: Thank you so much for the quote suggestions, everyone! I've added them to the list I've collected of quotes I want to use. Also, these little stories might not be in the order that they occur from now on, okay? **SPOILERS FOR "SEXY" ARE AHEAD.**

* * *

"_...heart attacks are just from loving too much."  
- Episode 2.3, "Grilled Cheesus"_

* * *

**Of Heart Attacks and Lady Kisses**

It was raining outside, which was totally perfect for the way Brittany was feeling. There was a word for that, but Brittany couldn't remember what it was, exactly— which was sort of pathetic, since it had been on their last English test. She should be able to remember what the word was. But she had been too busy copying off Santana's test and taking peeks down her shirt to pay attention to what she had actually written as an answer.

But anyway, it was raining, and Brittany sat at her window, watching the fat drops fall to earth and splash around the stork's nest in her yard. The bird was curled in upon itself, sheltering from the rain, and Brittany kind of wanted to do that, too. Curl up in a ball and be protected. She just felt so confused after the day she'd had. And sad, too. But mostly confused.

Santana was _in love_ with her. She's said so herself. And that wouldn't have been a _bad_ thing, except that she was dating Artie and she loved him too— and she didn't want to hurt either of them. Brittany blinked back tears as she began to spin around in her desk chair, which usually made her feel better but didn't this time.

If Santana was _in love_ with her, did that mean she had been accidently cheating on Artie every time they made out? Because Santana used to always say that it didn't count as cheating because they were both girls and they weren't in love; but if Santana had been lying about being _in love_ with her, maybe she'd been lying about that too?

"Am I a horrible person?" Brittany asked aloud, stopping her aimless spinning to look up at her cat Charity, who was perched on top of her wardrobe.

Charity was the oldest cat in the Pierce family, mother to Sprinkles and unofficial aunt to Augustus, Blackjack and Cashmere, the kittens she had adopted from the sewer. Charity was therefore old and wise, and knew every secret of Brittany's (whether from Brittany telling her, or secretly reading Brittany's diary). Brittany always went to Charity for advice when she didn't want to talk to people about her problems. Cats were easy; they never lied, were always honest and affectionate. People were confusing.

The cat looked down at her owner with beady black eyes, her tail twitching back and forth as if amused by the silly human's antics. Her smooshed-in face somehow managed to look condescending and mildly entertained at the same time.

"But I'm not, though!" Brittany protested after a moment, obviously taking her flat-faced gray Persian's silence as an automatic 'yes' to her question. "I love Artie a lot! I would never hurt him on purpose. And I love Santana too!"

_Flick, flick_ went Charity's tail, the mesmerising fluff darting back and forth lazily.

"Of course I love Santana," Brittany continued, looking up at Charity with wide blue eyes. "I love her so much sometimes I make myself sick and actually throw up because I love her _that much_, and then I get heartburn and have to eat those gross chalky tablets that make it feel better." Brittany froze the minute the words were out of her mouth.

With a little gasp, Brittany swung her chair back around and began to yank open her desk drawers frantically. She searched through her crafts and all the other junk she'd thrown in there over the years, digging around until she found what she was looking for— the report she'd written for Health Class last in October.

_Heart Attacks Are Just From Loving Too Much__  
by Brittany P._

Brittany stared at her report, suddenly terrified of the words as they danced colourfully across it in magenta Crayon. It had been a long time coming, but she had _just_ realised: _heart attacks are from loving too much_. She had been thinking about Kurt's dad when she wrote the report, because Kurt's dad was awesome and loved Kurt so much that he gave himself a heart attack, but what about _her_?

She loved Artie a _lot_, and she loved her parents and her siblings Olivia and Henry a _lot_, and she loved Santana so much she made herself _sick,_ sometimes— Brittany whimpered and clutched the report to her chest protectively.

"I don't want to die," she whispered tearfully, absolutely _shaking_ with terror. There were still so many things she hadn't done yet with her life. She wanted to go to Paris and visit the oeuvre, and swim with dolphins in Mexico, find out what happens at the end of _One Tree Hill_, and learn how to turn on a computer! If she died at sixteen, she would never get to experience any of those dreams.

But Kurt's dad hadn't actually _died_, right? He must have done something to get better, and Kurt said something about doctors and not praying to the evil dwarf behind the moon. She could totally just ask Kurt what the doctors had done for his dad to make him better.

Except she didn't _want_ to ask Kurt how Burt had gotten better, because that would mean telling him she was in love with both Santana and Artie, which was confusing and she hadn't even told Artie that yet, let alone someone else... which left Brittany with exactly one option in her mind. She would have to go to Burt Hummel himself and ask him what he'd done to make himself better after his heart attack.

Nodding to herself a little, Brittany quickly folded up her report and put it in her backpack, grabbing a windbreaker and shrugging it on over her clothes. She knew where Kurt lived still, even though the Hummels had moved. They actually lived _closer _now to her house than they had before, which would cut the walk to their house in, like, _half_.

Glad that Henry was with their parents at Olivia's basketball game and she didn't have to take him with her, Brittany started the comparatively short walk to the Hummels' house. When she got to the white house on the corner that had been for sale a while ago but the Hummels had bought after the wedding, she stopped, feeling unsure.

What was she supposed to say? Would Mr. Hummel even be home? Should she have gone to the garage instead? Shaking her head and working up the courage, she decided to chance it and walked up the Hummels' driveway and then climbed the steps. Before she could psych herself out, she rang the doorbell.

* * *

Whatever Burt Hummel had been expecting when he went to answer the door on a rainy afternoon, it wasn't the daffy cheerleader his son had fake-dated for a few weeks a year before. He thought it might be Girl Scouts selling cookies; instead, he got an armful of Brittany.

"Uh, hello?" Burt said uneasily, looking down at the wet mop of blond hair that was pressed suddenly to his chest. The teenager was hugging him and tearfully mumbling into his chest about heart attacks and crayons. "Brittany, is it?"

Brittany let go of Kurt's dad and looked up at him, her eyelashes wet with tears and her bottom lip trembling as she nodded. Taking pity on the drenched teenager, Burt opened the front door a little wider to let her in. Brittany stepped over the threshold carefully, wrapping her arms around herself.

"What's wrong, sweetheart?" he asked, looking at her curiously. It wasn't the first time one of Kurt or Finn's friends had randomly on his doorstep. Admittedly, neither Mercedes nor Puckerman had ever _hugged_ him, but that was beside the point. Burt Hummel was never one to turn away a kid in need. "Are you okay?"

Brittany shook her head, sending little droplets of water scattering all over the Hummel foyer. With a frown, Burt went to the hall closet and retrieved a towel for the distraught girl and gave it to her. Brittany absently began to dry her hair with it, a frown still making her nose crinkle.

"What happened, Brittany?" Burt asked kindly, a million difference scenarios running through his mind. His home was kind of known for being a safe place for someone in trouble— God knows how many times Puckerman had shown up with a bloody lip after being caught up in a fight— but Brittany hadn't been there before, and she didn't look injured.

"I don't want to die," Brittany whimpered. Burt hadn't been expecting anything like that. He took her by the arm and led her into the kitchen, ignoring the little drops of water she left in her wake.

"Did someone threaten you?" Burt's voice was low and angry as he mulled over the prospect. If that Karofsky kid had said anything to the poor girl, he was going to call the cops and threaten harassment. Saying something to Kurt because of his sexuality was one thing— not a good thing, or even a justifiable thing, but to be expected, unfortunately— but to threaten an innocent girl who was more than a little dim was just... _cruel_.

Again, Brittany shook her head. "No," she said quietly, running the towel Burt had given her down her neck to catch the rainwater before it got into her shirt. "I just... I don't want to have a heart attack like you did."

Burt's frown increased. "You're a healthy, active teenager. Why would you be worried about having a heart attack?" It didn't make sense. Then again, a lot of what Brittany said didn't make sense, according to Kurt's tales over the dinner table. This was the same girl who thought his son was a dolphin, after all.

Brittany shrugged off her backpack and put it on the kitchen counter, opening it and grabbing a folded piece of construction paper from inside. Wordlessly, she offered it to Burt, who took it and unfolded it, unsure of what to expect.

_Heart Attacks Are Just From Loving Too Much__  
by Brittany P._

"Oh, Brittany," Burt sighed, rubbing a hand over his head as though to sooth back his hair (not that he had any, anymore).

"I just want to know how the doctors made you stop loving so much," Brittany supplied quickly. "Because I love people lots and it's making me sick all the time, and I don't want for it to get so bad I have to go to the hospital like you had to."

Burt stared at her, unsure how to answer. It wasn't like he had a pre-planned speech prepared for this occasion, as he so often did when Kurt came to him with problems.

"So how did you manage to love less? Because you still love Kurt so much and stuff, but you aren't sick anymore, and you must love Finn's mom too because you married her! But I love Artie and I also love Santana and my family, which is a lot of people—"

"Brittany," Burt cut her off, putting her report carefully down on the table. He felt instantly awkward, but he was sure as hell going to try to help her. "You see, when I got sick..." He paused, thinking about what he was going to say carefully. "I had a... _love_ build-up."

He had Brittany's rapt attention. She nodded quickly, understanding. "So do I. I have a love build-up too."

Burt sighed again, rubbing at his neck as was per his habit when he was feeling uncomfortable or didn't know what to say. "And having a... love build-up made me really, really stressed."

Brittany nodded. "Me too. I get stressed like _all the time_ because I love Santana and totally like having awesome lady kisses with her, but I'm dating Artie and I feel like it's bad to be in love with two different people at the same time."

Blinking away confusion as the blonde's words finally started to make sense, Burt closed his eyes for a moment and groped blindly for a chair. He found one and pulled it out to sit down, putting a hand over his face. "You're in love with two people at the same time?" he asked, opening his eyes to look at Brittany.

Brittany hesitantly took the chair opposite him and sat down too, because looking down at an adult made her feel weird. "Yeah. And I don't know what to do. I don't want to have a heart attack because I love so much." She paused, biting her lip. "What did you do to make your build-up go away?"

"I had to let my love out to make it better," Burt said carefully. "If you love someone, you have to tell them to let it out, show them how much you care." Brittany nodded along to his words. "And Brittany, you can't keep stringing along the guy you're dating if you're in love with someone else. It's not nice, and it could get a lot of people's feelings hurt."

Brittany crinkled up her nose again, holding back tears. "I know," she said softly, sniffling and wiping the back of her nose with the sleeve of her windbreaker. "I just don't want anyone to get hurt. I don't want Artie to be hurt because I love Santana more than I love him, but I want to be with Santana."

"You need to tell him that. If he loves you, he'll want you to be happy, even if it's not with him." Burt reached across the table to take Brittany's hand, a smile of genuine affection for the daffy ex-cheerleader crossing his features. "I promise, sweetheart, it'll all be okay."

"So I won't die, then? If I let my love out, I mean? Because I have a lot to live for. I don't want to die until I visit the oeuvre, or swim with dolphins..." Brittany mumbled, looking up at her friend's father with big, blue eyes.

Burt patted her hand. "I promise. You're too young to have to worry about that stuff." He stood and tucked the report back into Brittany's backpack, offering it to her. "Come on, I'll drive you home. It's raining pretty hard out there."

Brittany stood and took the bag from him, slinging it over her shoulder. When they got to the driveway, though, Brittany made a decision. "Actually, Mr. Hummel, can you drive me to Artie's house? I have something I need to say to him right away."

Burt nodded. "Sure, Brittany."

With a smile, Brittany climbed into the passenger's seat of Mr. Hummel's truck. She was feeling a lot better.


End file.
